


After-Effects

by adayofjoy



Series: After Effects [1]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Cute, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Love, M/M, Male Slash, Romance, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adayofjoy/pseuds/adayofjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baz reflects on life with Simon after the war. He considers how they deal with the after-effects of the battle and how they make a new life for themselves- a life filled with joy and, most of all, love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After-Effects

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone :) This is my first Carry On story. I just adore Simon and Baz so I wrote this cute, fluffy story about them coming to terms with life after the war. Please let me know what you think or if you just want to squeal with me about how amazing Simon and Baz are, feel free to do that too :)

The after effects of war were different for each of us. 

Snow was quiet and withdrawn for months.

After the battle Bunce whisked him away to her family’s home in London and I stubbornly followed, much to my father’s and Fiona’s horror. Professor Bunce tolerated my presence for two weeks (she didn’t see me much anyway, I didn’t leave Simon’s side) until Fiona showed up to drag me home.

'It’s just for a few weeks, Basil,' Fiona said as I climbed into the front seat of her MG. One of the advantages of being complicit in the death of my aunt’s sworn enemy is that she finally lifted my exile and allowed me to sit in the front seat of her car. 

‘Surely you can survive being parted with the Mage’s Heir for that long.’

‘We’ll see,’ I said, grudgingly.

‘Your father and stepmother aren’t entirely certain that the Bunce’s haven’t been holding you hostage. You know how touchy they’ve been since the incident.’

I scowl at Fiona. She had only recently stopped calling my kidnapping “the embarrassment” and settled for constantly referring to it as “the incident”, as if I had thrown up on one of father’s Persian rugs instead of being kidnapped by a group of half-sentient numpties.

‘You can’t blame them though, can you?’ she continued ‘I don’t think they’re ready to accept that you’re shagging the Mage’s Heir.’

I’d fed only an hour before Fiona came to pick me up and I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and the tips of my ears. As usual, my world continued to revolve around Simon. But we hadn’t done much more in the past two weeks other than hold hands constantly and sleep fitfully in each other’s arms. Simon had been having nightmares and I was the only one who could comfort him when he woke up; when he was convinced that the world was still burning and we were both going up in flames.

Hence, why I hadn’t made much progress on “shagging the Mage’s Heir”.

I try to sneer at Fiona, but the effect is somewhat diminished by the fact that she’s too busy flipping the bird at another car as she merges onto the motorway to pay any attention to my scowling.

‘Don’t go quiet on me, Basilton. You know I don’t give a shit who you shag, but did it have to be the Mage’s Heir?’

‘The Former Mage’s Heir,’ I correct, ‘And he’s my boyfriend now’.

‘Jesus Christ, that’s even worse’. 

 

Bunce threw herself into organising a flat for her and Snow to move into while I prepared to return to Watford for my final term. Snow said that Bunce had nightmares too, but she refused to talk to him about them. I suspect that Bunce is trying to stop Simon from feeling any more guilt than he already does, but of course this has a counteractive effect. Snow is the hero of this story (of my story) and everyone knows that heroes take the burdens of the world on their shoulders. 

At first, I was terrified that when he poured all of his magic into the Humdrum Simon poured away everything that made him Simon—his kindness and his bravery, and his sheer illuminating goodness. I was terrified that what would be left would be a hollowed out version of the boy I loved. 

This fear only lasted a minute. It stopped as soon as I saw Simon sob over the broken body of the Mage, a man who had done nothing but hurt and manipulate Simon time and time again. I knew then that what was important had stayed the same.

 

Snow and I talk on the phone every night while I’m at Watford, but it’s a poor substitute for the flesh and blood reality of Simon Snow.

It takes a few months, but Simon starts to laugh again. When I walk into a room, the smile he gives me is more of a grin than a grimace. He still eats like a pig and his stomach is still a bottomless cavern. We still squabble, but it’s over silly things now, like whose turn it is to make the tea. His table manners are atrocious and I still hate the way he shrugs instead of answering my questions. He’s still Simon. And I’m still desperately in love with him.

Then it’s the night of the Leaver’s Ball and we dance together in front of all of our teachers and fellow students. I’ve got my arms wrapped around his waist and the curl of that ridiculous tail of his is wrapped around my wrist and everything is perfect. I’m half convinced that I’ve ascended to some kind of heavenly afterlife; if it weren’t for the fact that it such a place seemed an unlikely destination for a vampire. 

 

When Simon and I kiss now, it’s less fire and brimstone and more of a deep, burning heat. It used to feel as if I were being scorched from the inside out, as if his mouth and his touch would be the death of me. But what a way to go.

There’s still heat when his mouth presses against mine. When his teeth bite the curl of my bottom lip, I still feel as if Simon Snow could be the death of me. When his hands trace the patterns of my hipbones and slide beneath my jeans I still feel as if I’m about to be set alight. Only now I feel all of these things in a far less literal way. 

Seducing your former arch-nemesis in much more satisfying when there’s no chance that he’s going to kill you both in the process. All of the satisfaction, but none of the terrifying aftermaths.

 

I still don’t know why we agreed to live apart for those first few months after I left Watford. 

We said something ridiculous about independence and taking the time to learn about ourselves without the other person constantly underfoot. But my world still revolved around Simon whether we shared a room together or not.

I didn’t need to sleep in my own bed on the other side of London to realise this. For his part, Simon slept better with me beside him. I’m not being self-indulgent here. Bunce told me Simon moped around like an abandoned puppy whenever I stayed at my own place for the night. I’d tease him for it, but I wasn’t any better. I’d mope around my flat pathetically like the lovesick fool I am until Simon would text me, asking me to come round. 

 

As I should have expected, Simon developed a cult-like following of friends when he started university. He joined every possible club and he was the happiest I had seen him in a long time. 

‘You’re still my favourite, Baz’ he’d say when I’d tease him about it. ‘Who else but you can keep me in line?’ 

‘I’m not willing to let anybody else try.’

It seemed that one of the downfalls of being both completely oblivious and criminally handsome was that I had to endure men constantly trying to pull Snow. Men and women constantly besieged him in class and in coffee shops, slipping telephone numbers into Snow’s hand. Before I could quite literally bare my fangs, Snow would slip his arms around my waist and kiss me until I was thoroughly flushed (which is quite a feat if you’re a vampire). 

‘If you keep snarling at the guys in my theatre class then they’re all going to think that you’re a crazy stalker’.

‘How the tables have turned, Snow.’

 

I would be insecure if Snow didn’t enthusiastically introduce me as his boyfriend to practically everyone he meets. 

The butcher down the road from Bunce and Simon’s apartment know me as ‘Simon’s boyfriend’ and the ladies who run the coffee shop downstairs from my flat always give me a free scone with my coffee (“to pass onto that lovely boyfriend of yours”). 

He’s never shy about holding me close when we’re on the tube, he constantly holds my hand, and he kisses me on the cheek when we’re around his theatre friends. 

Despite his original disclaimer, Simon Snow has turned out to be a fucking fantastic boyfriend. But I’m ridiculously in love with him, so I’m probably biased.

 

The first time he tells me he loves me, he blurts it out in a typical Snow fashion.

I’m juggling grocery bags outside my flat and talking about my latest economics paper (it’s all so domestic and mundane; it’s more than I could have hoped for) when he just says it. In fact, he practically shouts it.

‘I love you!’

I stare at him wide-eyed for a few seconds and he starts to babble. ‘It’s not just because you’ve stuck by me now that I’m Normal. I don’t know if you think this is the type of thing that meant to be poetically unsaid, but I’ve said it anyway. I’ve felt it for ages now, probably years, really, and I don’t expect you to say it back to me just ‘cause I’ve gone ahead and said it—‘

I cut him off by pressing my mouth hard against his and kissing along the line of his jaw, grazing his constellation of freckles with my teeth. My tongue slides against his and I feel like I’m being consumed by fire, something warm and bright. We’re both panting when we pull apart and his hand is under my jumper, clutching onto the small of my back. I press my forehead against his.

‘I love you too, you moron. Ridiculously so.’

I’m going to remember his grin for the rest of my life (so potentially, for eternity).

‘I love you, I love you, I love you, Simon,’ I whisper against his neck. I’m drunk on the words and I think I’m never going to stop saying them. I may never have to. 

 

So this is how I’ve coped.

I’ve held onto Simon Snow and treasured every part of him which he was happy to hand over for my safe-keeping, which included his heart and all of the best parts of him. 

We’re still coping. We still fight nightmares and judgement and I’m still a veritable member of the undead, but we’re getting there. 

Life with Simon isn’t what I expected it would be. It’s more than I ever thought I’d deserve. It’s not perfect, but it’s pretty fucking close.


End file.
